Flash
by passionately happy
Summary: It's quite surprising how much impact one click of a camera can have on a person.


**A/N: **This was something I wrote for my English class a few months ago and I thought I should share it on here. This is rated T for depictions of gore and instances of PTSD. I placed this in my Steve/Natasha story entitled "Child's Play", but given that Steve/Natasha is implied and I consider this to be a sort of character study on Steve, I decided to put it on its own. However, it is still there in "Child's Play" [Chapter 60] if anyone is interested.

Enjoy & don't forget to leave a review telling me what you thought.

* * *

It was baffling.

Despite all the rubble strewn amongst the ruins of New York and the mourning of the people who died during the battle, Iron Man himself managed to find a way to turn it all into one big celebration in true Stark fashion._ Of course._

Although the gloom of reality hung over the Avengers and their company, an aura of merriment had spread amongst the crowd, joyous music pumping through the speakers. Steve peers at his fellow Avengers - Natasha and Clint chatting over a glass of wine, Bruce and Thor socializing and being amicable with the crowd and Tony sitting beside him on the couch, lost in his own blissful world, his lover - Pepper, he recalls - fervently attaching her lips to his. Everyone seemed to fit into their place, perfectly content with everything going on around them.

Except him.

(But then again, when is he ever content with anything anymore?)

Steve sighs, gets up from his place on the couch at sight of Pepper crawling onto Tony and heads to an isolated corner, trying to get as far away from the party as he could. Leaning against the wall, Steve let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding and finally began to feel comfortable, closing his eyes in relief.

"Oh my god, you're Captain America!"

Famous last words.

With a quiet groan, Steve feigns his best impression of a smile (which turned out to be quite lopsided) and turns his eyes to his left to face a starry-eyed girl, his shield prominently displayed on her ridiculously skimpy shirt. She was decked out in red, white and blue - a premeditated thought to get his attention, it seemed.

(As if her scanty show of lingerie peeking out from her preposterously short skirt wasn't attention grabbing enough.)

"Hello," he mumbles, scratching the back of his head in discomfort. "H-how are you?"

"My name is Scarlett," she replies breathlessly, tucking back her bright red tendrils behind her ear. "And damn, I'm doing as fine as your beautiful behind."

Steve opens his mouth in disbelief at the girl's flirtatious persona. "I'm -"

" - Captain Rogers is fatigued from today's events, young lady," a melodic voice interrupts and Steve suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest at sight of the Black Widow, a small handgun in her right hand and the glass of wine he had seen with her earlier in her left. An audible gulp erupts from Scarlett and Steve watches Natasha smirk as she puts her glass down on a nearby table, clearly enjoying the intimidation she was giving her.

"I - I, " Scarlett stutters, all flirtatious tendencies put at bay. "I just wanted a picture."

Natasha stares at Steve, quirking an eyebrow in question. "Captain?"

Steve shrugs sheepishly. "A few pictures wouldn't hurt."

Scarlett squeals in excitement and literally jumps on the wincing Captain, who reluctantly wraps one arm around her rather curvaceous figure. She throws her camera at Natasha, who catches it with a skill that only an assassin can acquire and smiled toothily at the camera, a great contrast from her attempted seduction just moments before.

"Smile," mutters Natasha, and Steve musters up the best smile he could.

And the camera lets out a flash.

Steve stands still, eyes widened by the intensity of the flash. His body is rigid and still, the muscles in his back tightening and tensing in instinct. He feels his mouth go dry, his head start to pound and oh my god it's just like that time -

_- "STEVE, HELP!"-_

- and his palms sweat and he feels a chill run through him and he sees another flash and the flash is so goddamned bright and it's all too much...

"Steve?"

He hears someone speaking to him, their voice buoyant with concern, but he doesn't answer. He can't, really. He feels his heart thudding a million miles a minute and tears seeping down his cheeks. Breathe in, breathe out...

"Guys, help!" he hears someone call, followed by a clamouring rush of footsteps.

Someone touches him, all calloused and unfamiliar hands and Steve gasps, elbowing his arm into something solid. There's screaming now, frantic yells of concern and voices chorusing in disbelieving unison but they're all far away and somewhere he sees another flash and Steve is then aware that he's running, his feet frantically hitting the pavement in hopes that he could get as far away as he could.

~.~

_There was not a doubt in his mind that he had to save them._

_It was his fault - he led his men to death like lamb to the slaughter. He was their leader, damn it! He was supposed to guide them in the right direction, the way to victory and safety._

_There was absolutely no way he would've known this would happen. No way he could've foreseen this. It was all because of misleading information and inaccurate directions._

_And now he was alone and his men were out there for Death to capture in his ice cold fingers and -_

_He ran as fast as he could through the snowy forest, panting as he pushed through the icy branches that marred his path, determined to get to the sound of the gunfire that held his men prisoner. He nearly collides with a doe; it's terrified, judging by the expression on its face, and Steve has no time to shoo it out of the way as a gunshot that he presumes that was meant for him penetrates its hide, killing it with a traumatized yelp._

_Ignoring the pained feeling in his chest, Steve held his shield in front of himself and pointed his gun in the direction that he had heard the gunshot come from. He tiptoed, making sure not to rustle the branches in his path._

_He couldn't take any chances and alert his opponents to his whereabouts._

_(He had to save his men.)_

_From his vantage point between the branches, Steve could see hoards of Nazis, their cross hook symbol prominently displayed on their coats. A brilliant fire blazed behind the soldiers, traumatized yells seemingly evaporating from thin air._

_The Captain's heart clenched; he knew those voices. Those were the very voices that had pledged their allegiance to him all those months ago._

_Those were his men!_

_An array of questions ran through his mind - Were they bound? Is anyone dead? - but taking notice to the close proximity he had with the Nazis, he hid with his back to a tree, opening up his ears for information regarding his soldiers._

_"Well, well, teufelchens," snarled one of the Nazis and Steve heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet shot followed by yet another deadly shriek. "It seems that your Captain had failed you."_

_"He will not," a voice defiantly spoke back and Steve's heart went a-thudding with pride as he heard his soldier bravely defy his fate. "He's Captain America; I know he won't ever fail me. He's going to come and he's going to kick your behind."_

_"Oh, really?" responded the Nazi, and Steve could hear the smirk in his voice. "Where is he now? Frollicking about in the bushes?"_

_"Funny," Steve's soldier chortled humourlessly. "Trying to ward off your impending death by making ridiculous jokes, how nice."_

_A yelp followed the soldier's spoken words and Steve bit his lip to keep himself from crying out._

_"You have no right to be speaking to me like that, teufel," hissed the Nazi. Steve began to pay rapt attention, consciously holding the gun closer to the sound of the voice. "Five of your men are dead. Two are injured. And your Captain - your dear, sweet Captain," the Nazi added mockingly, causing Steve to let out a hiss, "is not here. He never will come. You will die in vain."_

_"Well," Steve's soldier responded. "My name is Christopher Robert Evans, an eighteen year old private of Massachusetts and I believe that my Captain will save me."_

_Fearing that the Nazi would act, Steve swiftly stepped away from the tree and threw his shield in the direction of the voice, which dented the Nazi's head as it bounced back towards the Captain's hands. He finally took a look at his surroundings, his stomach nauseous at sight of ruby red dripping from his soldiers staining the porcelain blood and his comrades tied up in bounds and shackles, wounds from pistol whip after pistol whip sketched onto their faces. Christopher sat there bound, his eyes brightening at sight of his Captain._

_But the party wasn't over yet, he mused - although one Nazi went down, there was plenty more to take his place._

_Acting quickly, Steve pulled out his gun and shot the lock to Christopher's restraints, to which Christopher immediately shimmied out of and reached out beside him to throw his two injured but living comrades on his back. Steve jumped in front of the trio and held his shield in front of them to defend them from the raging gunfire, all while shooting his own low-on-ammunition gun to ward off their perpetrators._

_"Go!" he cried out to the trio as he ran out of ammunition. "Get into the trees and hide!"_

_They were a bit too late._

_For a grenade lands right at Christopher's feet and he's flying, the men he was carrying thrown up towards the sky with the gracefulness akin to a ragdoll's._

_Steve is thrown back by the grenade's intensity, its brightness blinding the Captain momentarily. Hearing the ping of gunshots bouncing off his shield, he reached into his pocket quite vehemently and pulled out his recreational gun, shooting quite helplessly at his opponents. Once he regained his sense of sight, he rubbed his temples and looked towards the direction he's sent his soldiers running, his heart dropping to his stomach._

_He gets up, legs shaky and lip cut from the blast and moves towards the trees, keeping an eye out for his soldiers. His eyes register the dead: the many Nazis that he had seen earlier had been reduced to a pile of bloody limbs, the one that had been torturing Christopher just moments lying near a tree, his skull reduced to many pigmented pieces. He finds a few Nazi survivors, limbs charred to nothing but breathing, but he couldn't find it in himself to kill them._

_A groan emitted from his left and the Captain held his shield against him as he turned around towards the groan, a gasp escaping him._

_There - sitting under the tree he had hidden behind earlier sat Christopher, a piece of shrapnel embedded into his neck. Above him, impaled by the ridiculously sharp tree branches, hung his two injured comrades, eyes wide and unseeing. Steve breathed heavily, feeling a panic attack settling in as he watched his eighteen year old soldier die from choking on his own blood, his eyes lolling to the back of his head._

_But before he had time to mourn, the unmistakable sound of a pin was dropped and Steve's eyes widened as another grenade took him up, up and away, and the world is reduced to silence._

~.~

"STEVE!"

"Oh my god, I think he's about to jump!"

"Thor, catch him!"

Steve blinks as a pair of arms wrap themselves around his waist and he thrashes impulsively, but the hold is too strong for him to wiggle out of. The arms then drop him on the ground and he gasps, curling up into a ball.

"Steve?"

"Cap?"

"SNAP OUT OF IT!"

Taking a breath, Steve jerks himself out of his reverie and peers up at his surroundings, his eyebrows furrowing. This isn't a Nazi-infested forest...

"No, it is not," a feminine voice answers, as if replying to his thoughts. The Captain's eyes flit up to the owner and she gives her a smile, all red-lipped and genuine and Steve's immediately comforted by her presence, relaxing. "You had quite a bit of an episode there, дорогой."

"E-episode?" asks the Captain, blinking rapidly to clear his mind of confusion. "What happened?"

The group standing above Steve exchanged looks with each other and the seemingly shy doctor coughs and waves his hand to garner Steve's attention.

"I think you had a flashback triggered by the flash in the camera right now," he states, keeping his eyes locked on Steve's face. "It set off pretty intense memories for you and you slipped away from reality for a moment. We found you with one foot off this roof, ready to jump because you were screaming so much."

"I'm thinking it's a case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, right Brucey?" asks a man with a goatee, concern lacing his voice.

"Quite common for men of his stature," replies the doctor.

And suddenly it all clicked.

Embarrassed, Steve hastily stood up and looks bashfully at his fellow Avengers, biting his lip in shame. A choked sob escaped his throat and he drew in a shaky breath, much to the concern of his comrades.

"Is everything to your liking, Friend Rogers?" asks Thor.

The Avengers stayed silent, waiting for their leader's response.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," he stutters. "I just really- I need to leave," he says, his voice breaking.

Without one more word, Steve runs away from the roof and heads down the stairs. He bolts down to the weight room, fist clenched tightly over his mouth. He couldn't believe it - he was supposed to be their leader.

And he showed them his weakness.

Steve reaches the weight room and immediately took refuge in a few punching bags, trying to forget, trying to leave it all behind, trying not to break.

Easier said than done.

The captain hears the sound of footsteps and he crumples down to the ground, putting his head between his hands. He couldn't let his team see him like this; he just couldn't.

"Steve," he hears Natasha whisper, her voice tinged with sadness and concern.

Steve stays silent.

"Oh, Steve," Clint sighs, and walks into the room, followed by the remaining Avengers.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he spews out, gasping for air.

Someone pulls Steve's head out of his hands and immediately places their lips on his cheek. "I know you're not," a feminine voice coos near his ear. Steve whimpers. Natasha.

The Avengers crowd around Steve and pull him into a group hug; Tony lays on his lap, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist while Clint ran his fingers through his hair. Thor pulled Steve onto his lap, whispering stories of a happier tomorrow while Bruce buried his head into Steve's shoulder in an attempt of comfort.

Natasha nuzzles his cheek and nose, wiping all his tears away.

"Don't hold back," Clint says, running his fingers through Steve's hair.

"We're here," Thor says determinedly.

"You can trust me," Bruce adds.

"You can trust us," Tony says fiercely, hugging Steve tighter.

"You won't be alone," Natasha whispers. "Let it out."

And with that, Steve let go.

* * *

**A/N: **Please review! :)

As well, stay tuned for my Doctor Who/Avengers crossover coming out late-August.


End file.
